


Darling, where is your heart?

by Cactaceae28



Series: A Study in Floriography [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Brief consideration of suicide, But no one dies, Emotional consequences of time-travel, Episode: s03e21 Before and After, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Melancholy, Sad, Trigger Warning In Notes, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactaceae28/pseuds/Cactaceae28
Summary: The first time it happens —the first time she can’t mistake it for a simple cough— is a few days after her confusing travel backwards in time.
Relationships: Kes/Alternate Tom Paris, Kes/Tom Paris
Series: A Study in Floriography [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865254
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Darling, where is your heart?

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic deals with a gruesome fictional illness (though there aren't graphic descriptions) and has a character briefly contemplating suicide; please be warned and proceed with caution.

The first time it happens —the first time she can’t mistake it for a simple cough— is a few days after her confusing travel backwards in time.

It has been a strange few days since then. She’s found herself running down corridors for no reason at all, trying foods from Alpha Quadrant planets she can’t even pronounce in some cases, flying through her reports and her lessons in medicine and telepathy in order to accomplish more, reach further, to prove herself as much as possible.

It is only at night in her quarters with nothing to do and no one to talk to that she tosses and turns on her bed, trying and failing to fall sleep no matter how tired she becomes during the day. The stillness in the room is oppressive like it hasn’t been in years and she grows to hate the silence that makes it all too easy to think back to a time she doesn’t what to dwell on. She _doesn’t_ want to think; life is already too short, there’s no point in wondering what was, will be or could be. So she forces herself to relax and rest each night and fills each day with other duties and other people.

When the cough starts she also doesn’t think much of it; a starship is never as warm as a planet and it’s usually easier to let mild cold symptoms resolve on their own. The intermittent pain in her chest worries her a bit more, but it’s a dull ache that tends to flare after stressful situations ever since she gave up her lung for Neelix, and by this point she’s used to the exercises and pain relievers that will work best to soothe it. Meanwhile, life goes on. 

The day when she wakes up with a slight fever and a desperately dry throat that is making it almost painful to breathe she resolves to go to the sickbay. Her stomach rumbles yet the mere idea of solid food makes her insides churn. She isn’t too worried though. She simply takes the time to replicate a glass of water that she drinks in slow sips and leaves, hoping the Doctor won’t lecture her too much on the matter.

Sickbay is deserted at this time in the morning; their last patient was two days ago, an ensign that had developed an allergic reaction while on a supply run and had only been kept in bed as long as he did in order to document the unique Delta Quadrant compound that had previously been unknown to the Federation databanks.

“Ah, Kes. You’re here early today,” the Doctor says from where he’s running through his usual equipment check-ups, sparing her a quick glance before moving on with his work.

Kes tries to answer, but her voice catches and she can only let out a squeak. The rawness in her throat has given way to a stab of pain, and she feels like something is rattling with every breath she tries to take. She feels a strange urge to heave and stops to take a couple of deep breaths through her nose. She can feel more than see the Doctor stop and turn towards her, but she is too busy trying to dislodge whatever is making it difficult to breathe.

She coughs several times with purpose, trying to clear her throat and finally feels something dislodge and hit the palm of her hand. It’s something soft and surprisingly dry, and she furrows her brow in confusion, an emotion that only becomes more prominent when she looks down at whatever it is.

In her hands, there’s a bunch of beautiful, delicate petals in such a light shade of pink they are almost white. She picks one up with her other hand and lifts it towards the light; she thinks that she really should be a little disgusted, but in truth she is only bemused. Did they somehow end up in the replicated water this morning? Wouldn’t it be wet then? And certainly she hasn’t been so distracted lately as to _miss_ something like that?

She looks up with a half-smile still on her face, but it falls as soon as she locks gazes with the other occupant in the room. The Doctor is looking at her with horror. It is rare for him to muster up something that is stronger than amusement or frustration at any given moment, but now he’s looking at her like he has never seen her before, and when he approaches her, far too briskly, his hands flutter around her shoulders like he’s afraid she’ll break.

“What is it, Doctor?”

The question makes him flinch, but it seems to bring him back to the present. He grasps the wrist of the hand that is still holding the petal, sparing it a single dark look, and tugs her towards one of the beds. She sits obediently, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her stomach while he reaches for a tricorder, passes it over her torso and his expression shutters.

“I didn’t think… you’re Ocampan, this shouldn’t be happening. Kes…”

“What is it?” She repeats, trying to quell the uncertainty in her voice.

Even though he doesn’t need it, he still takes a deep, purposeful breath, and that is when she knows she will not like what he has to say.

“It is… a congenital disease. It is incredibly rare, less than seven percent of all known species in the Alpha Quadrant are susceptible to it. Humans, of course, and Breen, Betazeds, Tellarites, Klingons… but for it to exist here as well, and I didn’t even think to _check_ if you or Neelix could ever be affected.”

“Doctor?”

“It’s called _Viriditas bronchiali_ … Hanahaki is the common term. Without treatment, it is fatal.”

“But there is a treatment?” She asks, because she has seen the Doctor work under impossible conditions, and if there wasn’t, he would already be working on his next step. The Doctor grimaces.

“Yes, but Kes. Kes, I need to ask, are you… in love?”

“What?”

“Is there anyone you may have feelings for? Mr. Neelix, maybe? I know you parted ways a while ago, but…”

“No, of course not. Neelix and I…” she shrugs, because Neelix had been there for her when she hadn’t had anyone else, and she would always care for him; but _love_ … “He’s one of my best friends, but it’s not like that anymore. Why?”

The doctor sighs, “What you are going through… Hanahaki has a psychosomatic trigger. It is an illness of impossible love, unrequited love. There is a growth similar to a flower that compromises the respiratory system… eventually, it leads to asphyxia or organ failure. That is why the easiest, best cure is to have that love returned. If there’s any chance it may be… Kes, you know we will support you, no matter what, don’t you? If you’re afraid that they may reject you, just know that I will always be here.”

There is a pang in her heart at his words that has nothing to do with the tightness in her lung.

“What is the other option?”

The Doctor looks disappointed, but continues, “I can remove the growth with surgery. Once I excise all the roots, the flowers will stop multiplying, but the feeling will be gone. Sometimes, the bare memories remain, but everything else… every emotion, everything you may cherish now about that person will be gone, like it had never existed. "Who…” he hesitates, “who is it?”

“I don’t know,” she demurs; but she has a suspicion that she quickly buries deep in her mind.

The next two days pass almost like normal, if she ignores the Doctor’s frequent looks and the almost permanent heartburn. Though she has promised to take care of herself, the prospect of going to the Mess Hall is enough to make the pain almost unbearable and she avoids it more often than not, hoping that resting and going to bed early will help with either her illness or her peace of mind.

It helps neither. The third morning, it takes all of her strength to shuffle back into Sickbay and she knows she is pale enough that there’s no hiding her troubles from anyone who sees her now. The Doctor takes one look at her and purses his lips.

“That’s it– lay down. Kes. Should I… Do you want me to call anyone…?”

“Could you… could you call the Captain?”

“Of course.”

It takes several minutes after the call until Captain Janeway strides into Sickbay with her usual resolute gait.

“Is there a problem, Doctor, Kes?” She asks. Her eyes dart quickly over the empty beds and her shoulders drop a little in relief. Before they have time to explain, however, Kes feels the sweet smell of the flowers overwhelm her and she can barely cover her mouth before the fit comes. When she’s done, there’s another handful of petals, white, pink and rusty red, and two small buds.

“The emesis started last Friday,” the Doctor says brokenly, “Today…” he gestures jerkily at the petals.

“I have been feeling ill for a little over a week now,” Kes confirms, “but it’s growing worse. The Doctor explained things, but I can’t… It can’t be reciprocated, so I just… I needed you here Captain.”

There is a moment of shocked silence.

“I don’t understand,” Janeway says with the same understated horror that had been reflected in the Doctor’s eyes when all this started. “Hanahaki is degenerative, but it isn’t instantaneous. Even without treatments, there are plenty of people who have survived for weeks, months even.”

“For a healthy human, Captain, you would be correct, but with Kes, her metabolism is so much faster than ours, and,” he turns to look at her, “with your respiratory system already compromised, I… I don’t think we can afford to wait anymore. The surgery is only going to get riskier and less likely to succeed the longer we put it off, there are so many variables... I think we should proceed as soon as possible. Today. Tomorrow, at the latest.”

“Can I have a moment alone, please?” She asks after a moment of silence.

The Doctor seems like he want to object, but Captain Janeway nods and leads him gently away. She can hear them continue their discussion in the adjacent room, but she can only look at the petals of her last bout of nausea. The last few –the ones that have upset the Doctor the most— are no longer pink, but rusty red with blood.

Now it seems there’s nothing to do but confront what she has been avoiding. It occurs to her, belatedly, that she doesn’t even know the name of what is slowly killing her —she can no longer deny that—, and she desperately wants to put a name to this beautiful, deadly thing. Looking at the little bud in her hand, she is reminded of an afternoon that happened over a year ago.

\-----

_Suder had been fiddling with a long, spindly pair of cutters, and she had almost been afraid –almost, but there had been something different about him ever since he had been allowed this small freedom. His thoughts were calm and deep like the oceans she had finally gotten to see since she had started this incredible trip through the stars. He was still dangerous but not then, and not to her. His mind-sense was just enough to brush against hers and his focus was only on the plants surrounding them._

_“It’s strange, you know, how many species have given meanings to flora all along the galaxy.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I mean… oh, wait” he said, and a new light gleamed in his eyes and he got to his feet with a new bout of manic energy, “look—” he moved to a cluster of deep blue flowers in a vaguely spherical shape “this one is from Earth; it means ‘gratitude’. That one by your side is an orchid, it means ‘pride’; and that,” he pointed to a smaller one in a higher shelf, lime green and bell-shaped, “that one was a gift to our Maquis cell by a Bajoran, it means ‘faith’.”_

_“Are there any from your world?”_

_“What? You mean Betazed?” He stopped and shrugged minutely, and something that almost felt like envy brushed against Kes’ mind before the man brought it back under control. “Not really, no. My people don’t really see the need for coded languages and veiled meanings. What is the point, right, when most of the population can simply pick those meanings right out of the sender’s head?”_

_She had let the matter drop, unwilling to stir darker memories in him, and returned to pruning her own shoots. She had liked the idea of a whole language of feelings expressed through these colorful things that couldn’t grow unaided in her world however, and so she kept it close to her heart._

\-----

Now, she reaches for the terminal near her bed and begins searching. It doesn’t take long at all before she finds what she is looking for: it’s a Terran flower, of course. A peony. For humans, it means romance, a commitment to another person. A marriage, a family.

She almost regrets looking it up; a small part of her was still valiantly trying to maintain the lie she has been telling herself, that this illness is an anomaly, that there is no deeper meaning to be had, that there was nothing to lose. That there’s no unrequited love filling her chest because a few snatched moments with a man-that-could-be were not enough for such a deep, all-encompassing feeling.

Yet now, laid in Sickbay and unable to run away from her thoughts, she can no longer ignore the fact that it had been moments of everything she had dreamed once, when the stars had been just as impossible a dream. A person who took care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself and who would mourn her when she passed. A person who would help her through childbirth, who would share the fear and elation with her. A person who walked her same path and shared the same history. A person who cared.

That night, when they had almost been able to stop the process, after Linnis and Dr. Mozart had left, he had sat on the other side of the forcefield with his back pressed against the table so she could watch him from her cot without having to crane her neck.

They had talked about everything and nothing all night long. He had told her about his duties, her projects, the latest gossip, snatches of missions from the time in-between.

He talked about the tentative new understanding he had of his father now, that maybe he would never make peace with the admiral but that there had been a short time during which Andrew wouldn’t go to sleep without a story about either him or Captain Janeway, so now Tom hoped they could at least meet one day.

He told her about his latest car reconstruction, and that when it was done and she could join him out of Sickbay, they would take it to Aquitaine, to Sidney, wherever they wanted. That if she never remembered their shared past, he would create a holo-program with every location, plant and weather she had ever liked and they could explore it again, together.

After all the effort she has put into refusing to acknowledge the bitter truth, she can no longer continue. She loves her Tom. The Tom she had gotten to know from across a medical force-field and then a handful of stolen minutes, drifting through her fingers like the beautiful pink-white petals of the peonies growing inside her lung: but the one she loves is not the one that exists here. Even if the person on the bridge could muster enough love for her to recover, though he is now with another, deep in her soul she already knows that it wouldn’t be enough to make the flowers recede, not completely.

The peonies aren’t for the Tom that would try now, out of loyalty for a friend, to fill a role that isn’t his. They are for Linnis’ father, Andrew’s grandfather, a man changed by tragedy, responsibility, time, in a way the one here isn’t (perhaps, she allows, isn’t yet. Perhaps that distinction is truly what is growing and tearing at her heart). Still, she cannot wait for him and she cannot wish that heartbreak that still reverberated on his voice when talking about B’Elanna, even after everything, on him. The choices narrow down to two.

In whatever time remains for her in the here and now, the choice is only to do nothing, to keep alive in this timeline the only thing that remains of him —the beautiful pink-white flowers that cover her bedside table and spill down the sheets forming a halo around the bed— at the cost of her own life. Or to let him go, choose the surgery and live.

She loves her Tom with all that she has in this new-old, half-lived life… but it is because of that love that she thinks she can’t simply surrender and go out without a fight.

He had known from the start that she could not outlive him, and yet above all, he had wanted her to hold on, even if it was just for one more day. Even if the fulfillment of his wish has been so cruel, to throw it all away now, for the sake of memories… it makes dying almost seem like a betrayal, like his patience and his hope meant nothing.

But he is gone, worse than dead, nothing more than a nebulous possibility and a footnote in the mission logs. She wonders guiltily if there is some deeper meaning to it all. In her mind’s eye, for a fleeting moment she can imagine a road of peony petals stretching ahead, showing her the way to the Guiding Tree of Neelix’s stories, back when her life had been simple, but also so much less than it was now. Tom may have lived enough for him to be waiting for her there, with her family, with Neelix’s family. 

On the other hand, even if all she can give them is a handful of years when the memory of Linnis and Andrew will still _matter_ to someone in the universe, doesn’t she owe them, these children who could have been and, one way or another, now will not be again? If she waits… what is the exact measure of her loss, if she waits?

(If she waits, and he is indeed waiting, if they have an eternity together after all, he would certainly know how to rekindle her love for him again? Wouldn’t he?)

Is it selfishness or selflessness, both or either? Is there a right answer at all?

She doesn’t want to die like this. She has never feared death before, but now the possibility of it claws at her and turns her stomach and she no longer can tell if it is because of her fear or her broken heart or the merciless flowers, and whether it even matters anymore.

She feels the nausea raising again. Her throat has started burning almost constantly, permanently parched. The little buds and petals are so copious that after her last fit she has to spit the last few that get stuck in her mouth.

“Doctor,” she says and even though the words are barely above a whisper, he is there almost before the word is out of her lips. Captain Janeway follows behind him, and she quickly goes around the bed, one hand resting on Kes’ hand and the other hovering over her communicator, and the sight of their concern makes Kes smile despite the pain.

She can’t do anything else; she’s going to choose them. She’s choosing the Tom that is always kind but will never be more, she’s choosing Tuvok who will help her through whatever happens when she wakes up, she’s choosing the memory of Linnis and the chance that one day there may be someone like her yet. She’s choosing herself, her life, a future no matter how uncertain it may be and she hopes that her Tom would understand. That, somehow, he agrees.

“Doctor, I’d like to have the surgery.”

\-----

_When Kes’ powers grow out of control, when she resolves to leave Voyager behind, she goes through her quarters to pick a few little trinkets to remind her of her life aboard this ship. She spares a glance at the glass jar full of white-pink flower petals preserved under a stasis field, picks them up and considers them. She’s kept them there because the Doctor insisted on it; because she knows in her mind that for a few hours they stood for something important._

_She turns towards the replicator and puts the jar in the machine. Her fingers hover over the recycling command for a long instant but something stops her just before she presses it. With a rueful smile she takes a step back, feeling silly. She still picks the jar back up and returns it to the drawer intact._

_When she leaves the room, she doesn’t look back._

**Author's Note:**

> We are living in weird and scary times, and a lot of people are struggling lately; just remember, things can and will get better.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
